The Shattered Night
by Jesamaine
Summary: AU. It has been five years since the Master has risen and thrown the world into dark fear. Now, the Slayer must once again fight and reclaim the night. However, if she is to save others, she must first save herself.


Well, here it is, the AU I have been planning for a considerable amount of time. The first chapter, at least.

A brief synopsis: The Master won. He managed to escape from his prison underneath the church and become the true ruler of the vampires. Now, after four years of this horror, somebody decides to step up and take him down. _Dun dun duuunnnn._ It is AU in the fact that although demons and vampires and slayers and all that jazz do exist, most of the Scooby's never met. (Where did that term first originate, anyways? Anyone who gives me the answer gets a Buffy-verse one shot with a pairing of their choice!) None of the events of any of the seasons happened, and a few of them are together, but most are split into different factions underground. Now, although I intend to revert back to Season 3 Scooby's, I've incorporated different pairings and brought in characters and ideals from AtS. Basically, it's an entire mesh of all these different things, twisted to my preference. Welcome to the insanity!

**Disclaimer: **Oh, geez. If I really owned BtVS and AtS, would I be a bored city girl playing with borrowed characters and a dirty keyboard? …I didn't think so. If I do create some original characters, they will be the only thing really mine.****

**The Shattered Night**

_The sufferings that fate inflicts on us should be borne with patience, what enemies inflict with manly courage._

-Thucydides__

**Chapter 1**

Buffy Summers closed her eyes. She held them shut tightly, her eyelashes crushing against the bitter rosy hue of her cheeks. There really wasn't much point to the action, other then the urge to wish to be a in a better place, an urge she forced back into the pits of her mind. She could wish to be back in bed, forever in a slumber and hidden from the world, or back in the arms of her now deceased mother, or even standing on a grassy hill and letting the sun bask her skin in its glow, having not a care in the world. But all the wishes in the world on all the stars she could count wouldn't make that happen.

When she opened her eyes, everything was the same. The sky was still filled with slate clouds, the ground was still coated in white and black snow, and the now twenty year old Buffy was still standing in the cold with her hands thrust deep into her pockets, waiting for the bus. A few wisps of blonde hair had escaped from her braid, the one that had been done intricately this morning but now found itself limp and loose, and framed the side of her face delicately. A full day of work seemed to have that effect on her, a weariness that was only noticeable through her hair. The other things that used to be common to Buffy Summers, the hop in her step, the big smile on her face, the crack of quips and jokes, those were things that had been lost a long time ago.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It had been a title, bestowed upon her at the tender age of sixteen, back when the right shade of lip gloss for her complexion and whether Simon Tam though she was sexy or not had been her main worries. Up until then, the only titles that had concerned her were Sophomore May Queen and Prom Princess. It only took a second for everything to change, for Buffy to go from wondering how to juggle cheerleading and working at the Dairy Freeze, to wondering how she had smashed her bedroom door into pieces, to wondering how she was going to take down a nest of vampires.

Since then, she had been given other titles: Fallen. Forsaken. Wounded. Realist. Somewhere along the line, she had become all of those things. Buffy had become no more, she was the Fallen Slayer. In one instance, her identity had been cast off, and she had become something else entirely. Buffy Summers was just a name on a piece of paper, one that had become obsolete. The Vampire Slayer was just a title shrouded in mysticism and born out of the need for a hero, one that hadn't reached her ears in a long time.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer didn't exist anymore. She had been smashed long ago, her shards thrown to the wind. She had been born out of the blood of a heroine, and had been meant to be a firefly; glowing in glory, flying against the wind. Heroes were to have a short life span, and then be drawn up and made beautiful in stories with happily ever after's.

They were not supposed to grow old and watch the cold world go buy, while the only guarantee they had was that each day would be like the last; long and hellish.****

They also were not supposed to fail.

Four years ago, the Master of all the vampires had risen and seated himself as a king among his kind. Under his rule, they had risen; a shadow army, cupping people's mouths and cutting off their screams as they took their hearts blood away, until people were no longer the central figure of the world. They were a defeated species, pushed back into restrictions and filled with fear.

And now, here she was. Buffy the Fallen Slayer, who spent her days entering people's personal data into a computer and answering phones to deal with pissed off customers, her only reward being a meager pay cheque at the third week of every month to ensure she could keep up rent in her crappy apartment and put food in her mouth. She was a failure to her cause, and a faceless person in a gray little world because of it. Failure had caused her to choke on old wounds, a sensation she went through everyday, like stepping on glass with bare feet.

Defeat had cut her ties. Old friendships had fallen into dirt; Buffy had purposely withdrawn from some…

…And had others stolen from her.

The past four years had been cut through, Buffy reducing herself to a state of autopilot. A firefly with crushed wings, she had existed solely on the dreams that swept her away while she lay in slumber; dreams of a world better from this one. When the beeping of her clock ran in her ears and drew her mind away from sleep, Buffy met the realization she had to live in this world. And so, she would walk and work and eat and interact. She had it down to a daily routine, a neat order that resembled everything her life had become.

The shriek of moving rubber against the pavement of the street announced the arrival of the bus. Buffy was quick to get in, shielding herself from the bitter cold as she pressed her card against the appropriate censor and letting the beep being her signal to take her usual seat. Sliding in and curling her legs up in the small room she had underneath her, Buffy leaned her head against the window and watched as the scenery seemingly rolled away.

Now her future was in the question as the wheels of the bus escorted her through the winding roads and the trees and the people became only significant flashes on images to glance at through the glass barrier of the window.

She'd be 21 soon. The hands of the clock were always moving, and time was constantly pushing on, not even leaving her behind.

21. And then what?

She could take up slaying again. She had once had a deep fire within her, a fire spurned by the thrill of matching blows with a vampire as the cold air of the night brushed against her face. A fire spurned by the knowledge that the stake she placed in the heart of a vampire meant that more people would live to see the next sunrise. A fire spurned by the pride of having a duty, a calling given to her from birth, which elevated her. Which made her more then human.

That fire had long since been doused. The smoke had cleared, and all that was left were cinders, and the bruises she had never gotten. The bones that had never been broken. It had been a freedom, one that had been stripped from her long ago. Or, maybe, a freedom she had never had to begin with, but had only been an ornate illusion. Carefully crafted out of her own desires, her own need to have something that was hers. More then material objects, more then something she could hold in her hands.

Buffy leaned her head against the cool glass of the window once more, letting her hair be the only barrier between skin and glass. These thoughts would destroy her before they helped her.

And she didn't want to be destroyed.

Right?

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Buffy gazed out of her window. The sun had set, leaving trails of pink and lemonade blotting through the sky and dying the wispy ends of the clouds. The moon had been visible all day, but had now sunk down and started to shine, dotted by milky rivulets of stars that were barely visible. She used to love the sunset; Joyce and her would sit on that swinging chair on the porch that had creaked, a blanket serving for warmth on the cooler days and cookies being passed between them, as they watched the sun disappear upon the horizon.

Now she was passive to it. It was just a changing of the skies, one that meant curfew for all the humans. Chances were if they weren't in the safety of their own homes, they were as good as dead. They would hurry to pack up and catch the closest bus or streetcar all while hoping that they person they sat next to had a pulse.

This had become a tradition. Buffy would sit on the cushioned windowsill of her apartment and watch the sun dip down to bring light to the eastern hemisphere, letting darkness blanket over the city. Then, as the stars started to glow their luminescent sparkle, she would go to the mini-fridge and pull out a water bottle. It usually only took her a few gulps to finish the thing, with the water being so fresh and the thirst lingering in the back of her mouth, constantly. She'd pull her long blonde hair into a ponytail and curl up onto the couch, her feet bare as she would indulge into the most recent book of the month. It was _Angels and Demons_, this time.

She had first been drawn to the title. When Buffy had picked it up in the bookstore, she had been looking for guidance more then anything; that was what she read for. To maybe find a fictional situation that mirrored her own. However, the perilous journey of Robert Langdon and Vittoria Vetra had, in the end, nothing to do with angels or demons.

That was just fine.

Following that she'd cook dinner; TV meals and anything she could find that could be cooked in the microwave. She'd always meant to learn how to cook, but had never found the time. Or the drive. The food, although good tasting, hardly ever registered with her anymore. Eating had simply become a practice, something she did because she had to. It didn't mean anything.

But then again, not much did.

Looking up from her half eaten tray of pizza bagel bites, Buffy reached over and turned on the TV. Shows were still in progression, but most night scenes had to be faked or done extremely carefully. Resigning herself to a rerun of Friends, she leaned back into the couch and took another bite of her 'dinner'. No, she didn't want to be destroyed.

It was too late to want.

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**Slayer… **

_Buffy, dressed for battle and her expression sharp. In her hand, was a cross-bow, finely crafted and loaded with three arrows, each tip sharp and gleaming in the moonlight. Strands of almost glowing blonde hair whipped against her face. Power coursed through her veins._

_Behind her, was an army._

**Arise, Slayer.**

_A muscular man with a handsome visage; his hand on her shoulder.___

_A girl with long red hair; her arms glowing and casting fire._

_An older man wearing with graying hair; he wielded a sword._

_A beautiful woman; she looked straight into nothing._

_A young man with spiky hair; beside him was a shaggy haired lycanthrope baring teeth._

_Another man; his left eye was hidden underneath a patch._

**Find your army.**

_Behind the seven people, more came up over the hill. Demons, humans, warriors, all armed and battle ready. They all wore steely determination as masks, casting off what was underneath._

**Gain strength from others.**

_The same man who had laid his hand upon her skin. Only he did not appear so strong; he was locked in a dark room, with only enough light to make out his form. His shirt had been torn open and there were many cuts and burns upon his taut chest, as well as dried blood leaving crimson rivulets. His arms were clasped in iron shackles._

**Be a hero once more.**

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Dun dun duuunnnn! That last part was a dream that Buffy had, meant to be short and concise. There is a magic button towards the bottom left of your screen that will allow you, the dear ready, to make and post comments. It'll make this writer happy and inspire her to write more.


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